


Circumstances Could Be Worse

by siennna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/M, Forgiveness, Good Draco Malfoy, Muggle Life, Post-Hogwarts, hermione saves his sorry arse, people change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennna/pseuds/siennna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Listen, Granger, I wanted everyone to think I was dead, okay? I would have rather been presumed a corpse than a broke low-life 'slumming it' in the muggle world' He groaned and tugged at his hair. 'See, the fact that I even know that phrase is terrible'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circumstances Could Be Worse

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wondered what a muggle-Malfoy would be like. Thought I'd explore the idea. 
> 
> Enjoy, loves! Reviews/feedback are food for a writer's soul <3

Draco never realized how much he’d depended on magic for protection until he found himself cornered in an alley at the wrong end of a muggle knife, completely defenseless without his wand. The man himself had seemed to pour from the shadows, silent as a cat, until Draco had foolishly stepped into the dead-ended brick passage to smoke, as oblivious to his surroundings as that Lovegood bint from Hogwarts.

(He had to admit he was impressed by the man’s ability to steal a wallet and brandish a knife in the same motion)

“So what’cha got in the wallet, buddy?” He leaned in over the knife and Draco nearly went cross-eyed as he tried to keep eye-contact with the reeking stranger. The oh-so-clever perpetrator, although very handy with a weapon, seemed to lack any regard for dental hygiene, as his mouth was filled top to bottom with teeth so rotten they were practically dissolving before Draco’s eyes. 

(Charming)

“I hardly think we’re ‘buddies’ considering the current position I’m in,” 

Perhaps being cheeky wasn’t the best thing to do when held at knife point, but for some reason, Draco didn’t care. From what he’d read and heard about last moments, his life was supposed to flash before his eyes and some startling realization was to hit him at the last possible second. The reality of it, though, left much to be desired. His life did flash before his eyes, but not in the dramatic montage-like fashion those muggle cinemas would lead one to believe. It was more like, his life was a cheap magazine in the doctor’s waiting room that he was absently flipping through to pass time. Sure, maybe one or two things were significant or important, but everything else was easily glossed over. 

(Because, if he looked at his life impartially, his existence truly affected no-one positively and was beneficial only in that it furthered his bloodline. And how much did that bloody matter when no witch or wizard was around to care? How much did it matter when a damn muggle was about to slit his throat like a piece of tissue paper? Answer: It didn’t)

So, from this realization that his life truly consisted of nothing, carelessness was born. So what if he died right here, right now, in some dirty alleyway at the hand of a stranger? Even if he perished in the most comfortable setting possible, there would still be no mourners or people to miss him; no one to notice that the population just decreased by one.   
Because, Draco had no one, and any worldly possessions he owned were of little importance, meaning he also had nothing to lose. Not anymore, anyway. 

“Ah, a cheeky one I see! Well, buddy, I don’t suggest using your sharp tongue when I have an even sharper knife,” He chuckled under his breath at the clever quip and pushed the blade a bit deeper, relishing the drops of scarlet his handiwork brought to the surface. Draco hissed and tried to stay as still as possible, so as not to further the pain. (He didn’t care if he died, but he certainly wasn’t enjoying the sensation of having his skin split)  
“Now, you look like a rich guy, so why don’t ya just hand over any valuables ya got, so you and I can both move on with our lives?” He grinned, proudly displaying the results of around-the-clock drinking and being unfamiliar with a toothbrush. (Merlin did the man reek of vodka) 

“I believe you’ve already stolen my wallet, which happens to be the only thing of value currently on my person,” 

The man eyed him suspiciously. He kept the weapon firmly at Draco’s throat and used his free hand to dig into his pocket for the wallet, flipping it open with greed. 

Maybe it wasn’t really that funny, but Draco wished he could have captured the crestfallen look on that man’s face when his hungry eyes met the contents of his comically-empty wallet. The small leather compartment held only a five-dollar bill and some leftover currency from the wizarding world. Though, Draco really couldn’t blame the man for getting the impression that he would have more, considering his fine attire and natural poise. Hell, if he were a thief he’d probably think he’d hit the jackpot too if he saw himself walking down the street. Maybe he no longer held any kind of title or status in this world, but his air of dignity and grace certainly remained intact. 

“Listen,” The man spat, flecks of saliva spraying across Draco’s face, “I’m not playing a bloody game here. Give me something valuable, or I’m gonna carve you like a turkey,” He grinned darkly and increased his pressure on the knife, “Which’d be a shame, cause it aint even Thanksgiving yet,” 

“I. Have. Nothing.” 

Quite true in every sense, actually, though to the man it only meant that a certain November holiday would be coming sooner than he thought. 

“All right then, just close yer’ eyes real tight and wait for it ta’ be over. Don’t worry- it’ll hurt so bad that you’ll prolly pass out from the pain,” He chuckled and slammed Draco into the brick wall, wrapping his fingers around his neck and hoisting him up, knife poised and ready to plunge. Draco closed his eyes tightly and waited for the end with bated breath. This was it. This was the final chapter of Draco A. Malfoy’s unwritten story; here’s where the ink runs out and the quill abruptly scratches off the page mid-word. 

(Goodbye Lucius, thanks for the death eater mask and cold stares. Goodbye mum, I’m sorry we couldn’t be the kind of family you deserve. Good riddance muggle world, I have no qualms about leaving you. Goodbye wizarding world, thanks for stripping me of everything and dropping me into foreign territory with naught but my wits. Goodbye Hogwarts, I’ll miss the Quidditch but little else. Farewell my past Slytherins, it was a pleasure to share the same house, except for you, Crabbe and Goyle. You two belonged in Hufflepuff. Goodbye, Good riddance, Cheerio, and Farewell, cruel world. I suppose I should thank you for my existence, though a fat lot of good that did me, since all I accomplished was a long list of enemies and nineteen years of false pretences. And lastly, thank you and goodbye, my soon-to-be-murderer, for severing the last flimsy tie I have to this gods-forsaken-)

Wait.   
Nothing was happening. 

No pain, no cold metal plunging into his stomach; nothing.   
What happened? Draco opened one eye and peered down at the man curiously, confused at his lack of action. It was in the very second that he looked down, that the man’s grip on his neck instantly disappeared, causing Draco to fall to the ground. Oddly, so did the man. Crouched on the grimy alleyway floor, he stared in shock at the still body before him. Did he have a heart attack or something? 

His eyes were vacant but wide open, mouth caught in a silent scream. It could’ve been a heart attack or…

(No, it couldn’t be magic. This was the muggle world and-)

“D-don’t worry, he isn’t dead. Just stunned,” 

For what felt like the longest moment of his life, he didn’t raise his eyes from the floor, nor did he stand. Because for some reason that voice rang bells of sharp familiarity, which wasn’t possible because practically no one from the wizarding world dared to venture into these parts. Besides, he wasn’t ready to face anyone from there anyway.

His heart pounded in his chest and he watched their shadow shift uncomfortably.   
( ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom)

He stood up and collected his wallet from the man’s possession, finally daring to discover the identity of his savior. Bit by bit his eyes traveled up, starting at the black boots, then the long overcoat, moving upwards to a pale neck and trembling chin, curly hair stuffed haphazardly underneath a hat…

Ah. And so the mystery was solved. 

“We meet again, Granger.” He said flatly. “Though, you saving my arse wasn’t exactly the situation I assumed would inspire our reunion,” He smiled sardonically and pushed past her before she could utter a word.

He raised his collar and jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat, head ducked and stride purposeful. Out of every single person in the entire wizarding world, why did it have to be Granger that saved his life? There were plenty of muggleborns that bounced between the magical world and this one, so why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else? A sickeningly familiar sensation (shame) crawled up his spine as he imagined the stories she would spin of their little encounter. “Oh, Harry, Ron, it was absolutely rich! Draco Malfoy is now as piss-poor as any other street rat, and magic-less as well! Can you believe that, of everyone, it was the most prejudiced of them all to get trapped in the muggle world? I, being the kind soul that I am, saved his pathetic life. Though, considering his sorry state, I’m not sure if I was doing him any favors-“

“Hey! Malfoy, slow down!”

In that moment, he had two decisions; ignore her and keep walking, or stop, turn around, and confront the witch like a man. 

“Malfoy!”

And without a second thought, he broke into a run. 

Street lamps and cars blurred colorful streaks in his peripheral, the wind destroying any semblance of a hairstyle, his nose and lips cherry-red from the cold. He’d never been much of a runner, but the knowledge that Granger was right at his heels allowed him to tap into some secret reserve of speed. To an uninformed observer, what was occurring on the shadowed streets of London was a strange sight indeed. In the dead of night it appeared that a fluffy haired woman was sprinting after a fair-haired man, both seemingly filled with a sense of urgency. Perhaps this was the ageless case of a woman scorned and seeking revenge? The look of pure desperation on the man’s face was easily seen from a mile away, so whatever it was he was running from had to be important. 

(It was important, to Draco anyway, because he’d always held his pride in a rather high regard. Considering dignity was all he had left, he was willing to fight tooth and nail for it, even if that meant having to run until his damn lungs exploded)

His familiarity with the street names and buildings served as an advantage, because he knew a small river was coming up and felt fairly certain Granger wouldn’t follow him into ice-cold water. (Yes, he was that desperate) He sucked in more air, and pumped his arms and legs even harder, relishing the thought of rest but pushing forward despite it. 

Perhaps to some, his motives for avoiding an extensive encounter with Hermione were unclear. The reason he was so desperately evading her was simple: she wasn’t supposed to know he was here. Or, better yet, alive. After the war had come to a messy close and all the death eater’s corpses were tossed away and every toast imaginable had been made in Harry’s honor, there was the unpleasant matter of dealing with the ‘survivors’. Not the ones from Harry’s side, of course, but rather the sons and daughters of dead or imprisoned death eaters that no one knew what to do with. Of course Azkaban had been the immediate verdict, as many had been death eaters themselves. He was forced to watch in agony as nearly every single one of his Slytherins was subjected to swift punishment and sentenced mercilessly to years in Azkaban. 

Draco, however, was a special case. 

Lucius miraculously survived the final battle, only to be immediately tossed in Azkaban where they threw away the key. He wasn’t foolish enough to think even his father, the slimiest snake of all, could mange to worm his way out of that one, so the imprisonment didn’t come as a surprise. Narcissa managed to earn herself immunity once Harry testified that she’d saved his life and lied to the Dark Lord, two things that surely proved she’d switched sides, albeit somewhat late. Draco’s situation was very unique, to put it lightly, because while he had been a death eater, many (many) claimed that he’d merely been a scared child with terrible judgment when he accepted the mark. His mother and his lawyers both told him point-blank that the only way he’d be able to avoid Azkaban, was if he really played up the innocence card. He had to win the sympathy of the jury and allow everyone to see that he took the mark not out of bloodlust and hate, but because he felt he had no choice. And as he’d never actually killed anyone, the charges against him were likely to be much lighter than those of his former housemates. It was a dreadfully long process, but in the end he did manage to stay out of Azkaban, though it ended up costing him something worth even more than his freedom. 

His magic. 

And, no, the irony of the most prejudiced pureblood in Hogwarts ending up trapped in the muggle world was not lost on him. 

He no longer heard Granger’s footsteps behind him, so he gradually began slowing to a steady jog, before finally stopping all together. He crouched over and put his hands on his knees, wheezing and coughing like a pathetic wimp, on complete display under the street lamp’s glaring spotlight. The reality of his actions suddenly hit him as he realized that he’d run for blocks just to avoid talking to Hermione Granger. He ran like a coward. It was really a new low for him; he had officially sunk to-

“Gotcha!” 

He had exactly two seconds to process the exclamation, before Hermione leapt forward like a cat and tackled him to the ground. He struggled about for a moment, before he realized she’d already gained the upper hand by sitting on his back, which, unfortunately for him, meant having his face smashed rather indelicately into the sidewalk. 

“What-“ She began, panting like a marathon runner. “What the hell are you-“ Still winded, she took a deep, slow breath and collected herself. “What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?” 

He considered answering sarcastically, or even responding with a clever jab, but then thought better of it. Instead, he closed his eyes and just laid there, breathing in the wonderful scent of strangers’ boots and old gum and tar and dirt, splayed out like a starfish or road-kill, with princess Gryffindor sitting on his back as if it were a throne. 

Hermione, however, was undeterred by his silence, because not only was she as stubborn as he, but also twice as curious. And considering she’d assumed Draco to be dead for the past year and half, her insistence on answers was understandable. “Malfoy, you just disappeared after the war ended with absolutely no trail to follow or clue to discover. I knew you didn’t end up in Azkaban, because the Daily Prophet released a list of all of the convicted persons and your name was absent. Then, I thought you might have just made a run for it; you know, just skipped town and decided to live it up in the Bahamas or something. Then Harry told me you were dead, and a few days later your face was splashed across every paper and magazine in sight, and they all claimed that you were dead as well. So, the fact that you are very much alive begs the question; why?” 

Damn Granger and her insufferable curiosity. He didn’t care much for clever explanations at that point, and was just about ready to tell her he was a ghost. “Get off my back, and maybe I’ll talk. That’s usually how civilized adults communicate, yes?” He said tightly. 

“Oh!” She jumped off of him in an instant, surprise and slight embarrassment coloring her features. 

He stood slowly so as not to disturb his already-sore limbs. (Merlin he was not built for that kind of running) “Listen, Granger, I wanted everyone to think I was dead, okay? I would have rather been presumed a corpse than a broke low-life ‘slumming it’ in the muggle world!” He groaned and tugged at his hair. “See, the fact that I even know that phrase is terrible!” 

She stared at him for a long moment, taking time to fully digest the image of a very haggard-looking, disheveled, muggle Draco Malfoy. He looked miserable and weary; even his normally pristine white-blonde hair was sticking up in every direction, skin sallow and lifeless. It absolutely did not fit with her image of him from Hogwarts, though she supposed hardship did have a way of changing people. 

Hermione figured she could say a lot of things to him, most with the intention of further shaming him, but for some reason found herself refraining. If she really wanted information- which she did- then she would need to play it cool. Change the subject, make him comfortable. Besides, she was honestly curious about what he’d been doing for the past year, and figured having a few nice conversations with her former bully couldn’t hurt. He did seem decidedly less cruel now, and whether it was from a change of heart or just pure apathy, she planned on enjoying it. “It’s rather cold out here, why don’t we go find a café somewhere? I really am interested in what you’ve been up to,” She didn’t give him the chance to argue, because the second the words had left her lips she was already charging ahead in the direction of a presumed coffee shop.

“Granger, the only café that is open right now is in the opposite direction,” He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders sagging in submission. “I’ll lead the way,” 

The funny thing about hitting rock bottom (Something he achieved the second he ran from Granger) was that it allowed one to become utterly unburdened by pride. Perhaps a day earlier Draco would’ve rather eaten a house elf than sit in a café and let Granger buy him breakfast. But, given his new lack of pride, he accepted her food, money, and conversation with open arms. (Well, as open as his arms could be, anyway)

The café he brought her to was small and cozy with vintage photographs peppering the burnt-sienna colored walls, each table equipped with fake candles and checkered cloths. It was an odd shop, and the owners were an elderly couple that Draco could really only describe as sweet. (He did not favor the word, but the situation called for it) 

Hermione bit into her cranberry-orange muffin and smiled at the taste, eyes fluttered shut and lips curled into a pleased smile. “This is delicious,” She mumbled, already reaching for the next bite. Draco had to agree that the pastries and sweets were delicious but, while muffins were lovely, his favorite would always be the dark chocolate cake. Their waitress recognized Draco immediately, as he often visited the quiet shop to assist its owners in exchange for a cup of tea and strawberry pastry. Her name was Violet Barker, and could only be described as larger than life. She was an attractive woman, but had a habit of wearing extremely bright makeup and clothing, which had a tendency of overshadowing her otherwise dainty features and figure. Tonight, her hair was a very festive pumpkin-orange, adorned with lime green clips the exact shade of her eye shadow. 

“Well hello, Draco! Sonya and Robert told me to give you this on the house,” She winked and placed a plate of cake on their table. “Ah,” She said in surprise, her gaze finally straying to the girl sitting opposite of him. “And might this be a date? She’s quite the looker,” 

His heart nearly stopped in his chest and words began tumbling over one another in the desperation to form an adequate statement of denial. Hermione’s face flushed and her gaze fell onto her half eaten muffin in embarrassment. Violet chuckled at his sudden slip in demeanor, casting a knowing glance between the two. “Don’t worry, darling, true love can grow in all conditions and people. Plus y’all just look nice together,” She smiled thoughtfully at the horrified pair, her fingers tapping her chin in mock contemplation. “I reckon you’d have pretty babies,” 

At that point, Draco’s wits finally returned to him and he quickly collected himself. “I appreciate the cake, Violet; give Sonya and Robert my best. That’ll be all for right now, thank you,” She raised a perfectly penciled brow before turning on her heel to go, smug grin plastered to her ruby mouth. (She knew chemistry, and they could deny it all they wanted, because it was there) 

In her wake she left a very long, very awkward silence. Hermione stared down at her glass of water as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen, and even Draco found himself looking intently at his hands in discomfort. After a few beats, Hermione finally broke the tension, “She really is quite shy about her opinions isn’t she? A very demure girl, in my opinion,” He glanced up at her in shock at first- in a million years it never occurred to him that Granger possessed a sense of humor- before deciding to play along. “Oh, yes. A very private, introverted girl indeed. It’s quite obvious from the muted colors of her outfit that she is rather reserved,” There was a brief pause and twin looks of composure and seriousness on both of their faces, before Hermione finally broke down in chuckles. “Good one, Malfoy,” She smiled, eyes sparkling with laughter, “I never thought you could be funny,” 

He decided to not take offense and smirked good naturedly. “Yes, well same to you. It hadn’t occurred to me that such a tightwad could posses a sense of humor,” She raised a challenging brow to this, a smirk of her own now adorning her lips. “Well, this tightwad happens to be absolutely hilarious when she wants to,”

“And rather mad as well, I see, as she is referring to herself in third person,” 

She shrugged, sparkle in her eye. “Mad is a lot more interesting than typical, though, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for his answer, instead turning her attention back to the cranberry muffin.  
He watched her delicately take bites out of the sweet, somewhat stunned that she could eat something as messy as a muffin so neatly. But then again, that was Granger for you; doing the impossible with ease. He decided that since she was being so amiable, he would ask about her life and see where it had led. Surely at nearly twenty years old Granger was the owner of some insanely profitable business or the headmaster of bloody Hogwarts itself, or something else extravagant and impressive as hell.   
So what have you been doing, Granger? Something excellent, I’m sure?”

She looked pleasantly surprised at his interest, and wasted no time answering. “I’m to be the newest member of Hogwarts staff; I’ll be replacing Professor Mcgonagall as the transfigurations teacher and head of Gryffindor house,” Her cheeks turned rose-red with joy, her eyes sparkling like the surface of the ocean on a summer’s day; it was quite apparent that this job pleased her greatly. 

“Congratulations, Granger,” He said genuinely. 

“I absolutely adore the position, though so far I’ve only had test runs and sit-ins on her actual teaching, just so I can make sure I do the class justice. I officially start my career in a matter of months and I couldn’t possibly be more excited.” She beamed. “Of course, on the side I have been studying the properties of many magical ingredients, and have already began the process of creating new potions and spells. “

Wow. He was definitely correct in his assumption that Granger would be occupied with something important and worthwhile. “That’s quite the job you have. I’m impressed.” 

As this new, comfortable silence settled over them, he decided it was a good time to address the lovely slice of heaven before him. He hungrily carved out a large portion of the rich, chocolate desert, nearly salivating as he raised the fork to his lips. He would never admit it to her, but, given his decidedly less privileged life here, he hadn’t been able to afford anything but the bare necessities which unfortunately did not include desserts. It had been quite some time since he’d indulged in something as delicious (and simple) as chocolate cake, and Merlin was it heaven.

Time passed leisurely, so he hardly noticed when she finished her muffin and leaned forward on her elbows, eyes filled with determination. “Draco,” She began, tone deceptively casual, “What are you doing here?” 

He froze, fork halfway to his mouth. His appetite magically (ha!) disappeared at her question, and he slowly lowered the utensil. Draco leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “Eating dessert with a former pest at midnight,” He replied evenly.

His answer was expected, in that it was purposefully vague, but something within it struck her interest. “Former pest?” She asked curiously. 

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, “Yes, former; you’re not half as obnoxious as you were in Hogwarts,” He glared at her smug expression, “Let it get to your head and I’ll gladly revoke my statement.” 

His answer amused her, but banter wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “You know what I meant, Draco; why are you in muggle London? I won’t tell a soul, and I’m really only asking out of curiosity,” 

“I already answered that question earlier,” 

She shook her head and crossed her arms. “You only told me that you’d rather be presumed dead, not how it happened or what led to this,”

“Well, what are you doing here Granger?” He snapped defensively. 

She rolled her eyes and spat out an answer in a matter of seconds; “My parents are muggles and I, being part muggle myself, tend to frequent the muggle world. Now what’s your reason? 

He gave her a hard, searching look for a moment, before finally sighing in defeat. “Here’s the gist of it: The ministry wasn’t sure what to do with me when the war ended, since my Mother was a ‘war hero’ and my father was a convicted death eater. It was finally voted upon unanimously that I be exiled to the muggle world without magic for however long the council deemed necessary. Could be three years, could be thirty. They said they’d owl me when it’s time,” He scoffed at that and shook his head. “I figured they wouldn’t let me off with a few measly weeks, so I didn’t bother waiting around for any owls when I first got here, even though it got pretty rough. There’s no need for details, because I’m sure you can imagine how well I adjusted initially,” He muttered sarcastically. 

“So what have you been doing this whole time? It’s been about a year and half now, yes? Do you,” She paused, unsure of how to phrase the question, “Do you have a paying job?” It came out sounding odd despite her best efforts, even though she only asked out of concern. 

“Well, no one wanted to hire a homeless kid in wizarding robes, so at first I just did whatever odds-and-ends jobs I could find. Sometimes it was mowing a lawn or walking pets for a few pounds, and other times it was selling hot drinks and hamburgers,” 

Somehow she couldn’t imagine Draco Malfoy peddling fast food from a small window, nor could she picture him doing someone’s yard work. “And what about now?”

He shrugged slightly and took a sip of water. “I was a waiter at some cheap Italian place until they fired me a few days ago. I’ve been job hunting since then,” 

A waiter? “Why did you get fired?”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “Granger, you’ve always known me to have very little patience for idiots, correct?” (Exhibit A: Harry Potter. Exhibit B: Ron Weasley)

She rolled her eyes, “Yes, I suppose I have,”

“Well, let me tell you something we servers of the public are all too familiar with; people are horrendously daft. Brainless, simple, dull, dim, doltish, and just plain unsavory,” He shook his head, “I had to deal with imbeciles every single day, and eventually I just couldn’t take it. My last act was rather satisfying, though,” He chuckled to himself at the memory. “Let’s just say, it involved a large pitcher of lemonade that may or may not have been thrown onto a customer, possibly or possibly not by my two vengeful hands.” She stared at him wide-eyed, lips twitching in amusement. “And there might’ve been a few choice words said as well, though I can’t be certain,” 

She smiled briefly at his anecdote, before her expression turned thoughtful. In a strange way, she was proud of the man eating chocolate cake before her; the mere fact that he’d grown from a sheltered, spoon-fed, brat into a humbled, hardworking man was more than she’d ever expected of him. 

(For now, she would ignore the fact that he’d thrown a pitcher of juice on one of his customers and focus instead on his impressive transformation)

He, however, took her contemplative silence as disapproval and immediately began defending himself, “Listen, Granger, before you start going off on me for being a poor worker or having a short-temper or whatever, let me just say-“

She stopped his oncoming rant with a pacifying raise of hand, an amused smile playing on her lips. “Relax, Malfoy, I didn’t plan on ‘going off’ on you at all, actually. If anything, I think it was a rather funny, and most likely justified, final act,” 

His shoulders relaxed once more and he polished off the last of his cake, replying with deep satisfaction, “Yeah, it really was.”

Sometime later, as night faded and turned to morning, they found themselves sitting on a park bench, swigging two bottles of butterbeer that Hermione had procured from her bottomless bag. 

He glanced at the bottle and chuckled under his breath, “You really are prepared for anything, aren’t you Granger?”

She looked up at the fading stars, a smug smile firmly on her lips. “Indeed” she said, sounding rather pleased with herself. The two sat in comfortable silence for some time, before Draco finally decided to open his bottle. 

He watched the golden liquid bubble over the lip of the bottle as he pulled the cork loose, and his eyes filled with something like sadness. It had been a sneaking suspicious of hers all night that he wasn’t as calm and settled as he seemed with the muggle world; she had a feeling that in reality he was actually extremely homesick. To add insult to injury, her presence was probably making him feel even worse as she was a living, breathing reminder of not only his past, but the painful present he’d never be able to return to. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Hermione lightly swatted his shoulder and mock-chided, “Goodness, Malfoy, it’s a drink not a sick puppy, no need to look at it so forlornly!” 

She grinned and wordlessly popped the cork off of her own bottle, relishing the sweet, familiar scent that immediately filled the air. “I never get sick of these,” She took a hearty gulp, head knocked-back, throat bared to the moon, before turning to him and letting out the largest belch he’d ever heard. 

(Merlin)

There was a period of three seconds in which silence and an absolutely stunned expression were his only response. In that moment there were several things he could’ve done, most of which involved a horrified reaction or some variation of disgust. And, honestly, he felt that at any other moment with any other person he would’ve done exactly that. 

Right then, however, he did quite the opposite.

“That’s nothing, Granger,” And then promptly belched right back at her, this time so loudly that he was certain vibrations could be felt in the earth. 

She laughed, and he joined in, the sound mingling in the morning air like fireflies or fairy-dust. 

“You know, Granger,” He said, once the laughter had faded into content smiling and soft chuckles, “I never would’ve imagined myself sitting here with you, of all people, in a muggle park, drinking butterbeer and belching.” Hermione smiled and nodded, glancing down at her hands in thought. 

“You’re a lot different than I remember, Malfoy. I would have never pictured myself speaking civilly with you on any occasion as well. Especially not one as relaxed as this,” She turned to him suddenly, eyes serious, “Tell me something, will you? It’s been on my mind all night,”

He nodded and faced her as well, though his gaze was far more cautious and guarded. “Yes?”  
She gritted her teeth and looked as if she were steeling herself to say something difficult. Just as she began wringing her hands nervously and clearing her throat, he cut in and prompted her to go on. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled her response,

“Do I still disgust you?” 

The question rang in out the cool air like an echo trapped in a box. Her gaze immediately fell to her feet in embarrassment, but it was plain that she was interested in his answer. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised that this had come up; if anything, the most shocking thing in this situation was the fact that she hadn’t brought it up sooner. Since he decided a serious question deserved an answer of equal merit, he took his time to articulate the words just right. 

In all honesty, he believed the Ministry’s punishment had caused the desired change in him; he no longer felt any of that former hatred and spite towards muggles, or muggleborns, or even Halfbloods. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was had been surrounded by them every single day for the past year or so, or maybe it could be attributed to a development of maturity, or even that the prejudice just hadn’t run as deep as he’d thought, and always contained an expiration date. Who knew?   
All he was certain of was the fact that blood status, in a world with death, hunger, struggle and pain, was the last possible thing on his mind.

He sipped his butterbeer. “No, not even in the slightest.” 

She nodded and he couldn’t help but notice the slight straightening of her spine and raise of her chin at his statement. “Good. The smartest witch of her generation, that happened to save your arse by the way, is anything but disgusting,” Her mouth quirked slightly, but stayed otherwise neutral. 

“And am I still a pale-faced ferret?” 

She shrugged and leaned back in mock-contemplation, “No, not so much a ferret anymore. Though I will have to say your complexion is just as pale as it ever was,”

Good. That was definitely good enough for him.

 

“I should get going…” She brushed a stray curl from her eyes, reluctance written in every feature. For some reason she found herself saddened by the thought of leaving, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to return with her. It had been an oddly pleasant evening and morning, even though all they did was talk in a café and at the bench of a park. She already knew she would miss this simple interaction dearly once she was again submerged in the busy life that awaited her back home. 

“Yeah, probably,” He rubbed the back of his neck and helped her up from the bench, not even noticing that he pulled her up by the hand. (There was a time when even the thought of performing such an action would’ve been atrocious). “Hey, I’m…I’m sorry about how I was. Back then,”

She nodded and accepted the apology with easy forgiveness. He’d more than enough earned it tonight anyway. 

He chuckled in spit of himself and added, “Yeah, and thanks for saving my life by the way. Rather important thing for a person to lose, I believe.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Right place at the right time I suppose; don’t thank me thank fate,” She paused and suddenly dug into her bag, her hands resurfacing with a sizable wad of bills. She met his gaze and awkwardly held out the bit of money, “Do you…?” 

He stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment before chuckling bitterly and turning away. “Put your damn money away, Granger. Did you really think I was going to accept it?” 

She pursed her lips and shook her head, “No,” She admitted, “It’s just that you don’t have your waiting job anymore and-“ He cut her off with a look that said You sure as hell better not be pitying me. She sighed in defeat. “Fine, well, at least tell me where you’re staying?” He glared at her and opened his mouth to argue, before she quickly cut him off with her hand. “Hey, I wasn’t suggesting anything. I’m only asking out of curiosity,”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”  
“It’s a good thing we aren’t cats then, isn’t it?”  
“Yes, you’re right. You’re not really a cat so much as a bit-“

She looked offended for a moment, but her impending comeback quickly melted into a tired laugh. “Alright, Alright, I get it. Just…take care, Malfoy, okay?”

A sarcastic comment teetered at the tip of his tongue (Really, Granger? Because I was planning on not taking care of myself) but he quickly thought better of it. “Thanks. You too,” 

She nodded and turned to go. “Goodbye, Malfoy,” 

He watched her retreating back for a few seconds, before he suddenly felt a very strange sensation in his neck. Something heavy was swelling inside his throat, forcing its way past his lips practically against his will, and before he knew it he was calling:

“Just for the record, I live in the apartment on Brantley Street. 421.”

Hermione paused and turned around, a funny look on her face. “Is that an invitation to visit?” She called teasingly, eyes shining with good humor. 

“Of course not, I was just answering your question,”

She looked at him for a long moment, a suppressed smile threatening to shatter her cool expression. “I’ll be seeing you,” There was that light in her eyes again, “Draco.” 

(his name had never sounded so good)

He walked back to his apartment building at three in the morning after that, and though he only slept for five hours, he’d never felt so well-rested in his life.


End file.
